"Gyllene."
Bruten heard no answer. Moska, his vulture, awkwardly padded into the den as if he owned the place.
"Gyllene, Bruten calls. Are you home, lioness?"
"Moska. Silence."
"Hello, Moska. Bruten."
The soft voice came from behind them, and Bruten slowly turned to face the healer. Moska let out an ugly crow, shuffling forward on clawed feet.
Bruten was not the kindest of lions. He was large and dark and not handsome; his temper was strong, his body stronger, and he was not afraid to use force when necessary. His father was warlord; this meant he deserved respect by proxy, and Moska was keen to make certain that everyone knew it.
"Hit her, Bruten. Hit her. Sneaking up on the Warlord's son like this." The vulture let out another low crow.
Bruten watched Gyllene with hooded eyes, as if he were weighing his options in taking Moska's advice. Gyllene looked a little too serene for his tastes, even when faced with the possibility of a beating. She was freeborn, though, and so Bruten thought better of it.
"I have an ache, healer. In my paw. I require medicine, and tending to."
It was obvious he did not care if Gyllene was otherwise occupied. He moved into her den much like Moska had earlier, and settled himself in the very center of her home. Bruten had a way of making a space his very own, and the large lion wasted no time in doing so.
Gyllene let out a small sigh before she was herded into her home by Moska. It was difficult not to take a swipe at the bird, but she refrained. It would only end ugly for her, and the sooner she took care of Bruten's paw, the sooner they would leave and that was the goal here. She had other duties to tend to, and had only been in her den so that she might replenish her supplies.
"Did you step on something?" Her voice was gentle, her expression schooled into something she hoped was very unoffensive. The less emotion she showed to the brute of a lion, the less he would want to talk, and that meant that he would be gone faster.
"No." The way he said it made it sound as if he thought her stupid for asking, and the insinuation was not lost on Gyllene, especially after Moska let out a low, harpy-like laugh. "I was sparring earlier; it is likely the injury happened then. The pain is not unbearable, simply annoying. I thought you might place a salve upon it; is this something that you can handle, healer?"
Gyllene had to fight a snort. She'd helped birthing mothers bring young into the world; fresh Stormborn blood had been guided to life by her very paws. The strained muscle in a foul Freeborn's paw was nothing that she couldn't handle, but to say as much would undoubtedly mean unsavory reactions, and Gyllene's main priority was getting Bruten out of her den so that she could do what she'd meant to accomplish.
"I have salves," she replied, choosing to reassure Bruten that yes, this was something she could handle quite well, thank you very much. "Lift your paw so that I might take a better look, please."
Moska clacked his beak, the sound echoing dully in the small den. Bruten sent his familiar a glance as he did as Gyllene had asked. His paw was large and dwarfed Gyllene's as she gently ran her paw over his, trying not to be obvious as she searched for any thorns, rocks or swelling. There was none, and Gyllene hummed softly as she moved away from Bruten.
Keen blue eyes watched her move towards her supplies, and Moska continued to clack his beak, muttering now and again about the uselessness of certain healers.
"This will likely burn when I apply it to your paw," Gyllene warned as she walked back to Bruten, a viscously foul-smelling glop in her paw. She did not offer any other warning before she slapped it into Bruten's paw, brows lifting as if she dared him to comment on her methods.
The rich scent of mint rose in the air; it was not catmint, but carried with it a mentholated, peppermint scent. Bruten grunted; the healer had been correct, it did burn, but Bruten was not about to cry aloud. He'd not give Gyllene the pleasure of showing any other reaction aside from that one, singular grunt. The effect was immediate; the herbal salve sank deep into his paw, and as Gyllene massaged it into his muscles, the pain all but completely dissipated.
Bruten grunted again, the sound almost quite possibly tinged with something that might have been admiration, not that he'd ever give voice to such a thing.
"I will give you some to take with you," Gyllene offered on an exhale. It was the same thing she would offer for anyone; she did not feel obligated to offer the salve to Bruten simply because he was Njal's son. Nor did she feel obligated to provide the service out of fear. She was not afraid of Bruten. Perhaps that was stupid of her; some said that he was similar to Kjar in his mannerisms. Kjar was a lion that Gyllene did her best to stay away from. He was big, strong and abusive, and she'd had to look after far too many thralls that he'd broken.
"Appreciated."
Bruten flexed his paw, ignoring the way Moska continued to clack his beak. The single word was as close to thanks as Gyllene would get. The pain in his paw had ebbed, and for that he was grateful, but he would not thank the healer outright. Bruten did not believe in things like niceties, and he never had.
"Here." Gyllene placed a folded leaf packet at Bruten's feet. Moska immediately swooped it up, still muttering around the salve in his mouth.
Bruten grunted and rose to his feet. He did not dip his head in thanks, but merely turned and took his leave.
Gyllene exhaled, a shaky breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Once Bruten had gone from sight, Gyllene turned back to her supplies.
WC: 1031
